


getting to me

by laurxnts (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bottom Castiel, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/laurxnts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous requested: college au where Cas is a stripper and Dean is one of his most frequest visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	getting to me

**Author's Note:**

> this got a little out of hand. I…. yeah…. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I also stopped in random places and came back to it a few days later so if this doesn’t flow, that’s why. Not beta read because I’m a piece of shit.

Contrary to popular belief, Castiel _liked_ his job.

It had started off as something temporary, a means to an end in order to get him through the first year of college, but now… well, now Castiel Novak _chose_ to do this job. He made a lot of money – more than enough to fund his degree _and_ give him a comfortable life – he felt sexy, and for the most part, the customers were polite. The company rules were, as for all strippers, that no touching would be allowed, it was an extra cost for a lap dance, and anyone who was being loud, or shouting extremely inappropriate things would get escorted out by security. So Castiel felt _safe_ knowing that the drunks or the real perverts wouldn’t get anywhere near him.

His week would usually run the same; he’d go to college during the day, and work at the bar 4 evenings a week. It was a good job, it was an easy job, and it came naturally to him. Not to mention, the attention was a huge confidence boost.

He was one of the most popular workers at the bar. Castiel was twenty and had been told he had killer cheekbones and hipbones. His trademark clothing tended to consist of something powder blue, either a shirt, or a dress, or the occasional lingerie dress if he was feeling particularly adventurous. He would almost always finish his outfit with a pair of panties, a range of colours, but blue was always his favourite. Blue because it matched his eyes, contrasted against his messy dark hair. With this combination, alongside Castiel’s pert ass and almost radiant tanned skin, he got a lot of attention.

The bar, and Castiel specifically, had a few familiar customers; there was a police officer who would come in maybe once a month at the most, and a group of girls – one of which Castiel had learned was called Meg when she had asked him for a lap dance on her birthday – who would always come in whenever they were spending the evening partying at various bar across the city, and acted very cliché in that they would hoot and holler, throwing spare dollars his way. It was all in good taste, Castiel was sure.

But Castiel had once customer who was a lot more frequent, and attentive, than the others.

Castiel didn’t know Dean’s surname, or very much about him (Castiel figured it would be weird for a stripper to start asking their best customer about his personal life), but what Castiel did know was that Dean was _kind_ and attentive. He came into the bar once on a bachelor party and Castiel had noticed him staring all evening as Castiel did his show, and performed his lap dances for the people who had paid for it. Even through the semidarkness, Castiel could see the intensity of Dean’s green eyes, the way he licked his lips when Castiel did something particularly sexy. He’d come in a week later, and watched Castiel again, and after that he’d fallen into a pattern of visiting every Saturday night. He never paid much attention to the other workers, just Castiel. Always Castiel. Dean’s intense gaze made Castiel’s skin hot, made him blush, and sparked something in his gut. He couldn’t work out what it was; no other customer ever made him feel like that, it was just Dean.

It took Dean 3 months before he beckoned Castiel over and slipped him some money for a lap dance, his eyes averted a little, biting his lip nervously. Castiel could tell the difference between a guy who frequented strip bars all the time, and a guy who had never received a lap dance before in his life. Dean was definitely the latter. Castiel had danced for him, facing him for the most of it, laughing softly.

“You know, it’s a waste of money if you don’t look at me,” Castiel had said, a smirk on his lips. Dean had turned his gaze onto Castiel, and he didn’t look away after that. That close, Castiel could make out his admirer a lot better; could see the freckles that dusted his skin, mapped out like stars. He could see the softness around Dean’s green eyes that told him he wasn’t much older than Castiel. His hair was a dusty blonde, and his skin was shadowed with stubble. When Dean had shifted a little beneath him to get comfortable so he could watch, Castiel had been able to smell him. He had smelt like car oil – which had lead Castiel to the conclusion that he was a mechanic of some sort – mixed with the scent of his aftershave. He had smelt incredible, and it had made Castiel’s stomach flip.  

“What’s your name?” Castiel had asked softly, his lips ghosting across the man’s ear, but never touching.

“Dean,” he’d grunted back, his voice thick and gruff. “I – can I ask your name?”

Castiel had laughed softly, rolling his hips in time to the song. “Castiel.”

“Oh, okay,” Dean had cleared his throat, almost as if he felt awkward saying his following words, “You’re really damn hot, Castiel.”

Castiel had smiled at Dean’s nervousness; it was sweet that the man didn’t know if he were allowed to say that, like Castiel hadn’t heard it a million times. “Thank you,” he had replied. They didn’t speak after that, Dean’s eyes fixed on Castiel’s body as he moved. When Castiel had ran his hands across his own body, hitching up his shirt a little so Dean could see the blue panties that sat on his hips, he had heard Dean gasp a little, shaky and definitely a sign of arousal.

When the song had drawn to a close, Castiel pulled back, meeting Dean’s gaze. He didn’t know if Dean’s blown pupils were a symptom of arousal or the darkness, but Castiel figured it was both. He cleared his throat and smiled, his voice breathy when he spoke. “I’ll see you next weekend… _Dean_.” The name had rolled off his tongue, testing it out, and he decided he liked it.

They had fallen into a pattern after that weekend. Every Saturday when Dean paid his weekly trip to the bar, he would pay for a lap dance from Castiel and they’d exchange words, learning snippets about each other as the weeks went by, talking and flirting and teasing. So far, all Castiel really knew was that Dean was indeed a mechanic, and he would come to the bar not long after finishing his shift, he had a little brother who was going to Stanford in the summer, he wore a lot of flannel and he was definitely single. No one in a relationship could get away with coming to this bar every weekend. He knew that Dean liked pie and rock music and he loved his car, and Castiel told Dean a few things too, but he was sure Dean never remembered them. No one cared what a stripper’s favourite meal was, or what music he listened to.

Castiel had never felt this way about a customer before; the tension became tangible, he wanted to make a move, wanted Dean to touch him, to grab him and take him in front of everyone in the bar. He felt hot and needy whenever he danced for Dean and when Dean’s hands would twitch, desperate to put them on Castiel’s body, Castiel almost gave in and _begged_ him to do it, to break the rules. There was something so captivating about the green eyes and the freckles and the smell of car oil and leather and Castiel wanted to _drown_ in it.

It was the weekend of Halloween, and Castiel had been instructed to wear white during his show, alongside a cheesy pair of angel wings and a halo that he cringed while putting on. He knew that being a stripper wasn’t a _classy_ job, but he thought he’d have more self-respect than this. He stared at himself in the mirror backstage, almost laughing at the sight. An arm slung around his shoulders, nudging his angel wings.

“You look great.” Ruby told him, dressed up in a devil costume, her lips painted red to match. “A little cringy, but great.”

“Thank you, Ruby.” He sighed, looking at the sight of them both together.

“Besides, cheer up,” she grinned at him, a knowing smirk gracing her red lips, “it’s Saturday.”

She sauntered away, winking at him as she did so, and Castiel felt his cheeks heat up. Were he and Dean really that obvious? Obvious enough that his colleagues had noticed his attraction to Dean? He shook it off and took a deep breath, walking out to perform his show. He heard vague chants of the word _angel,_ but most of the sound was drowned out by the music as he danced and stripped, walking expertly in his heels. The lights on him meant that he couldn’t scan the crowd, couldn’t see if Dean was there. Although it was a Saturday, it was also Halloween, and Castiel was sure Dean had better things to do for Halloween than spend it here, paying for lap dances from Castiel.

He stepped off stage when he’d finished, wearing only white lace panties and the angel wings (he got rid of the halo as soon as he had the chance), giving his thanks to those who complimented him on his show, declining their requests to buy him drinks. He usually avoided making relationships with customers; they always expected more once they were _a familiar face_ and Castiel didn’t want to get into anything messy. He liked his job. Dean was his exception, because Dean was kind and respectful, and never broke the rules. There weren’t many customers like that. Most figured that Castiel’s body was theirs to touch and grab. Dean saw past his stripper-status. He liked that.

“Hey, angel, can I buy you a drink? Whiskey and coke?” The voice came from behind Castiel, and he would usually turn down a request like that; he’d heard that line a thousand times. But this time, it was different, because he knew the voice. He turned to look at Dean with a grin. “Mm, it is Halloween though; you could splash out with one of those Vampire Cocktails if you’re feeling kind.”

Dean clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Such a gold digger, Castiel.”

Dean waved a bartender over and ordered their drinks, beckoning for Castiel to come closer once the bartender had left. Castiel did so, knowing that Dean would pay for his lap dance, he didn’t even bother to ask. He just straddled Dean’s legs (he took off those ridiculous angel wings first), ensuring the two of them weren’t touching, and grinned at him, their faces inches apart. Dean stared up at him, swallowing hard.

“You look- you look really damn good in those…. those panties, Cas…” He choked out, voice thick with growing lust.  The tension between them, as always, was palpable, hanging between them, hot and heavy. He could feel the heat radiating from Dean’s body as he started to dance, could see the dilation of his pupils as he stared at Castiel.

The song shifted moments later, changing to a slower one, throwing them both off. Castiel stilled, blinking at Dean, unsure of what to do. It took a few experimental rolls of his hips before he started dancing to the slower song, swaying his hips. Dean’s breath hitched, staring at Castiel. Their eyes met, the tension tangible, as they locked their gazes on one another, unable to break away like they were held together with invisible chains. Castiel’s hips were dangerously close to Dean, their bodies ghosting against each other, bare millimetres away from touching.

Castiel swallowed thickly, his eyes locked on Dean’s, feeling the arousal stir deep in his gut. The heat radiated off Dean’s body and his own was clammy and warm, bristling with goosebumps. When Dean lifted his hands, Castiel thought this was it, he thought Dean was going to grab him and claim him and take him right there, but he didn’t. His fingers ghosted against Castiel’s waist, so close that Castiel could almost feel them, but never touching. He _couldn’t_ touch. Castiel felt like he was going crazy. He glanced down as he danced with the intention of gliding his hands over his own hips, but he found himself distracted in the semi-darkness by the bulge in Dean’s jeans, he was _hard_ and straining against his jeans just for Castiel.

Castiel’s vision blurred a little, dizzy with lust, sparks shooting from his gut downwards, filling out his cock. He panted a little, placing his hand on the back of the sofa just behind Dean, his breathing growing heavy and hot. He swallowed thickly, his skin hot and sweaty, super sensitive to the feeling of Dean close to him. He could almost _feel_ his body against Dean’s. He tried to keep dancing, rolling his hips, running his hand through his own hair. With his own frustration and horniness lighting up his body, he gripped a fistful of his own hair and tugged it hard, pulling his head back and whimpering, exposing his throat. The pain-pleasure from the pull of his hair zipped through him, lighting him up, and he heard Dean groan beneath him, his fingers digging into the worn down leather of the sofa.

Castiel pulling his own hair had turned Dean on. Was Dean thinking about pulling Castiel’s hair? Tugging on his hair as he fucked into him with the thick cock that Castiel could see straining against the denim of his jeans?

Castiel’s legs trembled and he nearly collapsed into Dean’s lap, breathing heavily. His eyes were glossy with lust, with need, black pupils shining as he stared at Dean. Dean swallowed a little, glancing down, and Castiel saw Dean’s breath catch in his throat.

“Cas-“ Dean breathed, choking on a moan.

Castiel knew what Dean was referring to. He glanced down, drinking in the sight of his own cock, hard and flushed, tenting his white panties, barely restrained by the thin lacy fabric. The delicate material was stretched over his cock and there was a visible wet patch of precome staining the fabric as the head of his cock dragged over it with every roll of Castiel’s hips. Castiel felt his cheeks heating up and he leaned in, lips ghosting against Dean’s ear, breath hot against the shell of his ear as he whispered, debauched and brokenly;

“ _you’re turning me on.”_

Dean’s fingers curled into the fabric even more, and Castiel wondered if Dean’s boxers were as soaked with precome as Castiel’s panties were. He hoped so. He wanted to tug down Dean’s jeans and lick every inch of precome from his swollen cock. The thought made another spurt of precome soak through his panties and he whimpered a little.

 _“I wish you could fuck me,”_ he whispered again, lips still ghosting against Dean’s ear, _“I’d let you take me, right here, let everyone watch-“_

“Cas, fuck, I’m-“ Dean groaned, and let his head thud back against the backrest of the tacky sofa, rocking his hips up a little. The bulge of Dean’s jeans dragged ever so lightly, almost not at all, against Castiel’s panty-clad cock and it dragged a groan from both of them. Castiel rolled his hips to the beat of the song, letting the head of his cock ever so slightly drag against the rough denim of Dean’s jeans, touching but not quite. They weren’t rutting against each other, just the ghostly brush of their cocks between layers of fabric, but with how highly strung and needy Castiel was, he figured he could probably come like this.

The thick, heady smell of precome and sex and lust rolled off the both of them, washing over them, hanging heavy in the air. The club always smelled somewhat like sex, but this was overwhelming, intoxicating, and it left Castiel dizzy and needy. He leaned closer, their faces agonisingly close to one another. Their lips ghosted together, an inch away from touching, their breathes mingling as both of them panted hard, hips still skimming together.

“Cas, can-“ Dean started, panting hard.

“Please, _I want_ -“ Castiel breathed too, hot on Dean’s lips.

Before either of them could move or voice their desires, a voice came from behind Castiel, demanding and stern. Crowley. Castiel’s boss.

“Castiel. Time’s up. You have a private client in one of the back rooms, number 12, whenever you’re ready. He’s a friend of mine and he wants a private show.”

Castiel whimpered a little, almost collapsing onto Dean and sobbing in frustration.

He pulled back, staring into Dean’s eyes, black with lust.

“I have to go.” He whispered, like the words were physically painful for him.

“Cas, jesus…”

Castiel was still straining against his panties but, with much reluctance, he slowly climbed out of Dean’s lap, swallowing hard. He watched as Dean ground his palm hard against his own cock through the denim, probably trying to will it down but it did nothing to aid Castiel’s own erection and he whimpered a little. He thought about the hard length underneath Dean’s hand, thought about stretching his lips around it, or sinking down onto it, feeling it fill him up. But the moment was gone, and the song had changed and the tension had dwindled away, nothing left but a clammy heat clinging to Castiel’s skin.

“I’ll – tell him I’ll be there soon.” Castiel mumbled dully to Crowley as he passed him, numb to anything but the throb of his cock and the emptiness of not having Dean against him. Dean hadn’t paid for his lap dance, but Castiel didn’t care. He had to be alone. _Now._

“Wh- Where are you going, Castiel?!” Crowley yelled after him, clearly irritated, but Castiel ignored him, seeking out the staff restroom which was a little room complete with a sink and toilet with a lock on the door, as opposed to cubicles.

With sweat slick and numb fingers, he tugged the door open, legs trembling a little, locking the door behind him. He stumbled to the sink and leaned his palms against it, the porcelain cold against his burning hot skin. He stared at himself in the mirror, blue eyes dark with lust, cheeks blushed, cock straining against his panties, hair tussled. He looked like a sex-crazed mess.

He stared at himself, imagining Dean walking up behind him in his reflection, imagine Dean’s thick arms winding around his waist. He imagined Dean mouthing at his neck and he tilted his head a little, exposing his neck even though Dean wasn’t really there to claim him. He didn’t blink, imagining Dean’s hands gliding up his chest to toy with his nipples. His own hands followed phantom-dean’s and he tweaked his own nipple, dragging a whimper from his own lips. He dragged his tongue across two of his fingers before returning them to his nipple, teasing it and rubbing it until it was red and hard and shiny with spit. He bit down on his already swollen lips and moved his hand to do the same to his other, imagining it was Dean’s hands on him.

Following Dean’s hands in his imagination, he reached down and tugged on his panties, making them impossibly tighter against his cock and balls, watching as the precome streaked against the fabric, leaving a wet trail in its wake. With numb, shaky fingers, he reached over to the little wicker basket that sat on the counter beside the sink basin. Of course in a strip club it was mandatory they kept these supplies in the restroom. He rifled through the packets of condoms and found a travel-sachet of lube, tugging his panties down desperately and coating his fingers. He imagined Dean going down on him, swirling his tongue around Castiel’s pink hole and he teased his rim with his lube-slick fingers, trying to replicate the feeling. He whimpered, staring at his own debauched reflection, loving how broken and needy he was, an obedient slut for a cock that wasn’t even here.

He let the panties cover his own cock, just tugged them away from his ass, and shoved two fingers deep into himself, imagining Dean’s thick hard cock sinking into him. He imagined being enveloped with the heady scent of Dean’s arousal and car oil and leather and he whimpered, moaning loudly, knowing that he could since the music from the club would prevent him from being heard. He bent over the counter a little, sinking his fingers in further, groaning loudly as he did so. He needed to get off, he _needed._

He braced one hand on the counter, feeling the vibrations from the pounding music outside in the club tremble beneath his fingertips, and crooked his fingers on his other hand, seeking out his prostate. When he found it, he whimpered, letting his eyes slide shut before returning to stare at himself. He wanted to see this, wanted to see exactly how he would look with Dean filling him up. He pumped his fingers in and out of himself, pressing the pads of his fingers against his prostate with each movement. The restroom was filled with the sound of Castiel’s loud moans and whimpers, the slick, wet sound of Castiel’s fingers thrusting into himself, and the bass of the music, bleeding in through the rim of the door.

“ _Dean,_ ” he sighed in pleasure, stretching himself out with a third finger, fucking himself back on them, slamming his fingers into himself. He could almost feel Dean’s hips and balls snapping against his ass, could feel Dean’s hands on his hips, could almost hear him praising Castiel. Relentlessly, he pistoned his fingers against his prostate, feeling phantom-Dean’s hand reach up to the back of Castiel’s neck, forcing him to bend over further. He could almost feel Dean’s hand in his hair, and so, to accommodate, Castiel reached up and gripped a handful of his own hair, tugging it back hard like Dean would do as he fucked into him. The pleasure-pain burning through him was enough to send him over the edge without warning, and Castiel cried out as he came, trembling, painting the inside of his panties.

He collapsed against the counter, breathing heavily, his skin slick with sweat. He whimpered, resting his forehead against the porcelain, letting it cool his burning skin. He lifted his head, bracing himself on the counter as he trembled, the strength drained from him in the force of his orgasm. He stared at his reflection; sweaty, his messy hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks blushed and lips swollen and red and bitten, eyes glossy from sobs of frustration he hadn’t known he made. He looked a wreck, and he smiled, his panted breaths fogging up the mirror. He looked blissed out and dominated, even though Dean hadn’t been here, he felt sated, for the moment, as if he was blissed out and wrecked _for Dean._

He splashed some cool water on his face, pushing his hair back and exhaled, glancing down. His thighs were still trembling a little, and the panties he was wearing were ruined. Damn. He should’ve taken a spare pair in with him. He pulled back the waistband of his panties a little and inspected the ropes of come lined against the fabric. It was crude to look, but he couldn’t help himself, and he felt his cock make a valiant twitch at the sight, the thought that he had ruined the panties.

He swallowed and snuck out of the staff toilets, making his way down the narrow, murky corridor that lead to the dressing room they used. The corridors smelt like sex and come, mould and sweat, and it made his stomach churn a little. He pushed open the door into the changing room, sighing in relief when he found it empty. He took off the panties, threw them in the trash and cleaned himself off a little before putting on a new pair, along with a blue shirt that he left half-unbuttoned to show off his chest, and he slid into a pair of heels.

He had a private show to perform.

He hated private shows, they scared him a little, because even though there was a tiny camera in the corner of the room for protection, there wasn’t really anything to stop the client from manhandling Castiel or touching him, or even worse, fucking him. Thankfully, it had never happened to him, but every time was dangerous. It only took one customer who saw strippers as nothing but pieces of meat to book a session with Castiel, and then he was screwed. He made his way to the back rooms where private shows were performed, walking past one of the rooms to hear the high pitched moaning of Ruby from through the door. He rolled his eyes. Some of his colleagues offered… _extra services_ in the backrooms, but Castiel had never signed that contract, and Crowley hadn’t offered it to him ever since Castiel made it perfectly clear he wasn’t willing. He found Room 12 and pushed the door open, sauntering in.

Crowley’s friend was a man called Nick, and Castiel did his job. He danced. There was no tension, no stirring of Castiel’s cock, no lingering eye contact. Just the standard movement of Castiel’s hips, the over-exaggerated gliding of his hands over his own body, the rapt attention from Nick that made Castiel want to roll his eyes. He faked a smile when his eyes caught Nick’s and he put on his fake ‘work’ voice, the one that was breathy and sultry and yet innocent.

“You like the way I dance for you, baby?” He purred softly, but internally he didn’t care, he didn’t want the answer.

Nick nodded, inhaling softly to supress a moan and Castiel considered it as he rolled his hips. He wondered if he smelt like sex and lubricant. He wondered if he smelt like _Dean._ He didn’t even know if that was possible since they didn’t touch, but the thought made his head spin anyway, that Nick might be able to smell Dean on him. He grinned his entire way through the dance, smirking when it was over and thanking Nick for the tip.

Castiel liked his job. Definitely.

~*~*~*~

It was the Monday after his Halloween shift when Castiel’s professor informed them that there were going to be some changes. There was a research project being carried out by the college, and they were seeking out volunteers from Castiel’s biology class and the chemistry majors to help move the project along. Castiel had volunteered, and he had been given a timetable of extra classes, one per week, to help with the research project.

Tuesday morning and Thursday afternoon were the weekly session time and he begrudgingly slumped down into his chair, irritated because he could’ve been sleeping right now, instead of stuck with students he didn’t even know. Not to mention, he worked the club on a Monday night, which left him exhausted come Monday morning, his eyes rimmed with red and his muscles burning from the dancing. To himself, he felt like it was glaringly obvious what he did in his spare time, he felt like he had **_slut_** stamped on his forehead, like everyone could smell the middle aged men he danced for on his skin, like everyone knew how low he’d stooped for money.

Perhaps he wasn’t so sure that he liked his job.

He didn’t hate _the job,_ but with it came low points, bouts of low self-worth and disgust at himself. He made money showing off his body, and he wanted to climb the ladder to _med school?!_ Like they would ever accept him if they knew what he was doing.

He sighed and crossed his arms on the desk, burying his face inside the little box they made. He was a whore, and he was sure everyone could see it on him.

“Is this seat taken?” A voice behind him came, tugging out the chair beside him, making a grating screeching noise across the floor as he pulled it out. Castiel felt a shiver run through him at the horrible noise of the chair on the floor, but then he froze. He knew that voice. A lump formed in his throat, and he sat up straight.

The man slumped down in the chair next to him, the force of his weight slumping down sending a tiny breath of air towards him that smelt like leather and car oil and aftershave and- Castiel wanted to die. His stomach churned and he turned his head, met by the green eyes that he had spent to many Saturday nights looking into.

_Dean._

Dean stared back, seemingly equally stunned.

For a moment, Castiel wanted to laugh. He was surprised Dean recognised him, since his contact lenses and panties and high heels had been swapped for thick rimmed glasses and an oversized jumper and converse trainers. How could Dean notice him? The rim of his glasses masked his sharp cheekbones a little, and yes, his eyes were still just as blue and his hair just as dark but- Castiel didn’t have much time to dwell on that before his mind was back on the panic. Dean was here. His client, his best client, was here, in his class. He felt mortified; everyone was going to know, everyone was going to find out what a filthy whore Castiel was and there was no way he could stop this. His fingers itched, rubbing against the table, legs bouncing anxiously beneath the desk, begging to get up and run to the office and drop out of his course. He had to. He couldn’t stay here.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, staring at him in shock. “Jesus, it’s-“

“Dean.” Castiel replied bluntly, feeling nausea wash over him in thick and unrelenting waves.

They gaped at one another pathetically for another 30 seconds or so before the professor came in and took over the class, taking away any chance that Castiel and Dean had to talk about this. They remained in silence for the rest of the class, Castiel barely even chancing a glance over at Dean. He knew Dean was probably staring, could feel his eyes burning holes in his profile, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to look at him, to see the disgust and pity and confusion that would paint Dean’s face, just like it had painted so many others who had found out about his profession outside of the club. Castiel was nothing but a sexual object, a piece of meat. How dare he pursue a career, have a life.

At the end of the session, Castiel grabbed his bag and hurried out, ignoring the sound of Dean calling his name. With his fingers digging into the strap of his satchel, hard enough to hurt, he walked fast enough, and didn’t keep walking until the unrelenting sound of Dean shouting after him dissipated into nothing.

Dean didn’t come to the club that Saturday.

The sofa where he usually sat was occupied by some crude middle aged man and his decidedly younger girlfriend, and even though Castiel’s eyes roamed the bar, he didn’t see Dean anywhere. Of course Dean wouldn’t come now, not now that he knew Castiel from class. His favourite client had gone, and even though it left a gap in his wallet, that was the last of Castiel’s concerns. With it went the unwavering attention, the feeling that he was more than just some whore that men watched so they could get off later with their cock in their hands, the flirting, the flip of his stomach and beat of his heart when he got close to Dean. With it went the good feeling about his job, and Castiel was crushed.

He danced for different customers that weekend, but the thrill was gone; it was glaringly obvious to Castiel when he danced for these men that they were filling a time slot where he would usually be dancing for Dean. He hated the feeling of being beckoned over to dance with another man, without a space between, like he was some toy to be passed around. When Dean payed for a lap dance, he would buy Castiel drinks and sit with him before or afterwards. Even if it was only for 10 or 15 minutes. He liked it. Now that was gone. And Castiel felt worthless.

The following Tuesday, Castiel wedged himself between two students that he had never spoken to before, one of them he was sure couldn’t even speak English. He didn’t care. Anything to stop there from being a spare seat beside him. When Dean walked in a few minutes later, Castiel could see his green eyes scanning the class before settling on Castiel. Castiel pretended he didn’t see the disappointment wash over Dean’s expression as he saw there were no spaces beside him.

Every Tuesday and Saturday ran exactly the same after that; Dean would never turn up at the club, leaving a pang of disappointment in Castiel’s chest, and Castiel would sit with the same two students each class, barely chancing a glance at Dean when he walked in. He learnt that the student who couldn’t speak English was called Kevin, and despite the language barrier, he was quite fun to be around. Dean had already made friends in the class, and Castiel watched carefully as he laughed and charmed his way into the hearts of classmates. He even had a girlfriend, Castiel was sure, judging from the way he latched onto one of the other Chemistry students, teased her, dotted pen on her nose to annoy her. Not like Castiel had been watching _that_ intently, of course.

Occasionally, Dean’s eyes would flicker up from his work, glancing over at Castiel, green eyes seeking him out across the lab and Castiel would stare down at his work, pretending he hadn’t been watching Dean. Because he wasn’t. He didn’t care. Dean was just a customer, and so what if Castiel had wanted Dean to fuck him, that was all it was. It wasn’t like Dean’s company and his silly jokes and the way his eyes wrinkled when he laughed made Castiel’s heart leap and stomach flip. It was nothing like that. Not at all.

They interacted a few times but barely. One time, Castiel had bumped into Dean while manoeuvring around the lab and then had both apologised before looking up and noticing who they had collided with, and then they had looked away, cheeks hot. Another time, they had been forced to work together for 20 minutes on a small aspect of the research, but they had worked in silence, except for the occasional, formal, work based questions. They had barely made eye contact, and Castiel had felt sick with nerves the entire time. Another time, Castiel had reached for a beaker, and Dean had been there to pass him one. Their fingers had brushed and their eyes had met, however briefly. Castiel thought of Dean as he sunk those same fingers into himself that night.

Castiel was torn. He craved Dean the same way that he used to. He couldn’t help but let his mind drift to bright green eyes and freckles whenever he got off, but it wasn’t the same. He felt used and exposed, like every time Dean glanced at him, he was in his panties in the middle of class. Like everyone could see him the way Dean had seen him. It was a scary feeling; having reality and his work bleed into one another, and Castiel would do anything to have it stop. He would give anything to go back.

Five weeks went by like this, an insufferable silence hanging between the two men before, finally, one Saturday night, things shifted.

Castiel had just finished performing, his body a little sticky with sweat from the dance and he wiped some of his damp hair from his forehead, walking to the bar and ordering a drink. He downed the entire thing when it arrived, panting a little from exhaustion from the dance. He had long since stopped bothering to check the bar for any signs of Dean now – Dean _Winchester_ as Castiel had learnt in his classes. By now, he knew the result. Dean wouldn’t be there, and Castiel wasn’t sure if he was glad or disappointed anymore. He groaned, pressing his forehead against the surface of the bar, before grimacing when he felt it was wet. He hoped it was alcohol. He shuddered and pulled away, rubbing at his forehead.

Benny, the bartender, laughed, handing him a cloth. “That bar is disgusting, don’t touch it, brother.”

Castiel frowned a little, scrubbing at his forehead. “Yeah, I- I realise that now.” He sighed. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he took the cloth back and poured Castiel another drink, “we gonna do that cliché barman thing where you tell me all your troubles?”

“Who says I’ve got any troubles?” Castiel raised an eyebrow, downing his drink.

“The way you’re going through that like it’s juice says you’ve got troubles to me,” Benny challenged, a grin tugging on his lips.

Castiel paused and sighed. “Fine. I- Just…. What do you do when you’re a stripper, and someone you know from your work happens to turn up in your real life?”

“Ouch,” Benny hissed a little, pouring himself a drink even though Castiel was sure that was against the rules. “They outed you?”

“No,” Castiel replied, pausing. That was a good point, actually. Dean hadn’t outed him to the college, in fact, as far as Cas knew, he hadn’t said anything to _anyone._ Dean held the power to destroy Castiel’s entire college reputation but he _hadn’t._ Before the warmth of appreciation in his chest started to grow, Castiel killed it, stamping it out with the thought; _he was probably just doing it for himself; didn’t want to admit he was frequenting strip bars._ He shook his head to clear his mind. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Well, that’s something, right?” Benny nodded, “so what’s the deal?”

“He’s – he goes to my college, I have classes with him. It’s unbearably awkward and…. Well, humiliating.” Castiel drained his glass, sighing. “Perhaps I _should_ feel humiliated.”

“Hey, there wouldn’t be strippers if there wasn’t a market,” Benny countered, draping the towel over his shoulder. “You’re providing a service; they’re the ones who are spending their nights and their money watching people because they can’t get a good show themselves.”

“I guess you’re right.” Castiel sighed, defeated. It didn’t make him feel any better.

“I’m always right, brother.” Benny winked, pouring Castiel another drink. “If anyone should feel humiliated by your chance meetin’, it’s him. But, you know, neither of you did anything wrong, don’t worry about it, kid.”

And with that, Benny was gone, moving to the other end of the bar to serve someone else. Castiel nursed his drink this time, tracing patterns on the glass absentmindedly with his fingertips, taking the occasional sip, lost in thought. He wished he could take Benny’s words to heart and walk in on Tuesday with his head held high, but he didn’t know how to. It wasn’t just the fact that one of the customers happened to attend his classes, it was the fact it was _Dean._ Their encounters in the bar hadn’t just been a job, they weren’t just _work;_ they had been raw and intense and had exposed Castiel in more ways than just the revealing clothing. Castiel had been ready to submit to Dean, body and soul, would’ve bent over the nearest table and let Dean take him and dominate him in front of everyone, and the loss of that, partnered with the humiliation of seeing Dean in his classes, had left Castiel feeling empty and burnt. He felt like nothing but a whore.

“Castiel,” Crowley’s rough, British accent came from behind him. “You’ve got a customer in Room 3.”

Castiel drained his glass, turning to look at Crowley. “One of your friends again?”

“No. Just a customer.” Crowley shrugged. “Give him a good show and for _bloody hell’s sake_ cheer up; you’re scaring away customers with that moping face. They’re gonna think I’m forcing you to work here.”

“Bite me, Crowley,” Castiel sighed as he walked past him, heading for the corridor. Crowley grabbed his arm to stop him, eyebrows raised, grinning a little. He leaned in close enough that Castiel could smell his breath; like tobacco and whisky and stale mint. It made Castiel shudder.

“Don’t tempt me,” he purred and Castiel made a small disgruntled, disgusted noise, tugging his arm away from Crowley’s grasp. Castiel walked away, a little faster than usual, anything to get away from Crowley.

He walked into the changing rooms, freshening up a little before tugging his panties off and slipping into his favourite pair; lace, ever so slightly see through and baby blue in colour. He shrugged on an oversized white shirt, buttoning it up, before slipping on a pair of heels and sighing. He stared at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his messy dark hair. He sighed a little. If only his classmates knew that he wore things like this. They would laugh at him, tease him, call him a whore. Maybe he was. He looked hot though, that was undeniable, but it no longer filled him with confidence like it used to. Instead, he felt exposed. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what Benny had told him, using it to motivate him.

With that, he turned and walked down the hall, ignoring the smell – it always bothered him, no matter how long he had worked here – and making his way into Room 3.

Out of all the things he expected; some hairy biker, some older man who was a little too handsy, the police officer, anyone - out of everything he expected, this was the last thing on his list. Because sat on the faded red leather sofa (honestly who decided that was a good idea? – though at least it would be easy to clean…) was Dean Winchester, his hands folding in his lap, nervously twitching his fingers, drumming them against his denim-clad thighs. Dean glanced up and his green eyes met Castiel’s in the dim amber light of the small room – less harsh and clinical than their classroom, but decidedly brighter than the public area of the bar. There was a light sheen of sweat on Dean’s skin and Castiel couldn’t pinpoint whether it was nerves, heat, or arousal. The latter made his stomach churn.

“Cas, I-“ Dean started, standing up, swallowing hard. Castiel could see that Dean was resisting the urge to let his eyes roam all over Castiel’s body and he folded his arms tightly around himself in some attempt to cover up. As empty as Dean’s absence over the past few weeks had left Castiel, he had no idea that Dean returning would make him feel worse. He felt used, cheap, dirty. Someone he knew, someone he went to school with, was coming here to pay for a private lap dance so he could keep leering over Castiel, and Castiel could do nothing to refuse. It was his job after all.

He took a step backwards, his back colliding with one of the mirrors covering the wall. “You…” Castiel swallowed thickly, trying to hide his anger. He felt his eyes sting a little as he stared at Dean, trying to process what exactly was happening. He would have to dance for Dean, and Dean would ignore him in class and continue to use Castiel at the weekends?

“Cas, hold on, I…” Dean shifted on the spot, nervous and uncomfortable. Dean was just like the rest of them, Castiel felt silly for believing otherwise. He forced himself to gain some composure and walked over to the stereo, trying his best to turn it on without having to bend over in front of Dean.

“What song do you want? Do you want- Uh- a fast or slow dance?” Castiel asked, trying to remain professional but his voice was wavering and his skin was bristled with goose pimples from feeling so exposed. 

“Neither.” Dean replied, switching off the stereo before the song even had a chance to start. “Here.” Castiel looked up, blinking, trying to work out what Dean was offering him. His classmate was stood, his own jacket outstretched in front of him. “My coat.”

“What are you-“ Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion but Dean cut him off before he could finish.

“Put it on. I don’t want you to feel….” He gestured to Castiel’s body. “…on display. We gotta talk.”

With caution, Castiel slowly put Dean’s coat on. It was somewhat too big for Castiel and he revelled in it, in the way it covered more of his legs up than the shirt, revelling in how he could drown in the thick brown leather. It smelt like Dean and the scent overwhelmed him, leaving him a little dizzy but he tried to ignore it.

Dean sat down on the sofa again, patting the leather beside him. “Sit down.”

“I’m okay.” Castiel replied tautly. “You’re the first customer who’s ever wanted to make small talk before I dance for you.”

His tone was cruel and bitter. Cold. He knew that was against company policy but he didn’t care. This had gone far past professional. Castiel pretended not to notice how Dean’s expression crumbled to one of defeat before he sighed heavily.

“Cas….” Dean swallowed, shifting on the sofa. “I’m not here for you to strip or… or dance for me.”

Castiel stared at him and his stomach flipped and he stepped backwards, shaking his head. “You can’t hire me to fuck me. I haven’t signed one of those contracts, I’m not – one of my colleagues can –“

Dean’s eyes widened and he blinked. “No, no, no, Jesus!” He blurted out quickly, but it did nothing to calm Castiel’s caution. “I’m not a monster, Jesus, Cas!”

“Then why are you here?!” Castiel snapped, averting his gaze. He focused on a particularly questionable stain on the worn carpet. He briefly wondered how often these rooms got cleaned. He decided it was surprising that Ruby hadn’t caught anything yet.

“I’m here because it’s the only freakin’ way I can get you to talk to me,” Dean replied, his voice heavy and exasperated. Castiel slowly returned his gaze back to his classmate, watching as he pinched the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “I- I’ve tried to talk to you like a dozen times in class and you always ignore me. I try and sit next to you but you sit with that damn exchange kid who can’t even speak English, I- I try and catch you after class but you’re packed and out of the door before I can even get up from my seat.”

A silence dragged out between them, probably only a few seconds in length but it felt like forever, awkward and uncomfortable as both of their brains worked fast to process the situation.

“Kevin is actually rather nice,” Castiel mumbled softly, breaking the silence. Dean couldn’t help but laugh, more incredulous than anything, and it tugged a smile from Castiel’s lips. For a moment, it felt as if they were back to normal, but it dissipated quickly and Castiel tugged the coat further around himself. There was another long silence before Castiel glanced at Dean, searching his eyes for any sign of dishonesty. When he found none, he shifted on the spot and shrugged a shoulder. “I thought that’s what you would want.”

“It’s not.” Dean replied quickly, swallowing hard. “I – Fuck, Cas, did you think this was just some…. That you were just some stripper to me?”

“I was. I _am,_ ” Castiel snorted but the bitterness is clear in his tone. “You paid for me to dance for you, to turn you on, you paid for me to make you-“

“Stop it.” Dean cut him off. “That’s bullshit and you know it. I turned you on too, I – it’s not even about that! We talked, I _liked_ you. I felt like a damn idiot for crushing on a stripper.”

“I – What?” Castiel blinked at him, trying to process Dean’s words. He inhaled shakily, trying to hold back the feelings that were threating to rush back. The way Dean used to make him feel; tangible and electric and intoxicating. The way his stomach would flip and heat would zip through his body and he would be left dizzy and too-hot and light on his feet. The way his heart would pound and he would have to fight to keep the smile off his face.

“I’m not stupid, okay, I know you were just doing your damn job, but I…. I’m just here to apologise.” Dean offered softly. “I didn’t wanna make you feel bad or – or embarrassed or – I never meant anything bad, I…. I’ll let you get back to work. You can keep the money, if- if you want.”

Dean stood up and headed for the door, a thick and dark silence settling on the room as Castiel remained motionless, feeling his breathing increase, his heart pound as he worked up the courage to speak, just as Dean’s hand ghosted over the door handle.

“I wasn’t,” He whispered, barely audible, but Castiel had forced the words out and it was the best he could do. He kept his eyes transfixed on the wall in front of him, not daring to look at Dean. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Dean freeze; his hand dropping from the door handle back to his side as he turned to face Castiel.

“What?”

“I wasn’t.” Castiel repeated a little louder, finally turning to look at Dean. “Just doing my job, I mean. You were right, I… It was different. You were different. I thought – I don’t know. I thought,” a bitter laugh escaped his throat and he almost choked on it, feeling a little nauseous, “I thought you saw me differently. That I… that I wasn’t just a stripper to you.”

“You’re not,” Dean walked up to him, standing in front of him, but still keeping his distance, as if the two of them hadn’t done all but grind against each other a few weeks ago. “You’re not just a stripper to me. And it’s – you don’t have to say it like it’s a bad thing. Stripping. It’s not. You’re doing a job, you’re hot, why not?”

Castiel almost let himself believe Dean’s words. He averted his gaze, searching out another stain to focus on, trying to ignore the sting of hurt that settled over him at the thought of Dean being there. “Why are you here?” He whispers, words feather-light, choking on them a little as tears threaten to overtake him. “What would your girlfriend say if she knew you were here?” The thought of Charlie brought a bitter taste to his mouth but he swallowed it down.

Any reply to the first question that Dean had formed died on his lips, his brow knitting together, confusion flooding over his features. Castiel was too busy focusing on the wall to notice. “My- My girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” Castiel glanced at him. “The redhead. Charlie….? You two are always so loved up in class, I noticed.”

Dean stared for a few moments before he started laughing, incredulous. Castiel felt anger bubble inside of him and he glared at Dean, narrowing his eyes. “Charlie’s not my girlfriend, Cas,” Dean laughed, trying to compose himself when he saw that Castiel was angry. “She’s – uh, she bats for the other team. She’s _gay._ ”

Castiel considered this, blinking slowly. That made a lot of sense. He’d never actually seen them kiss or hold hands… Just goof around and laugh a lot. And Charlie did seem to show some kind of interest in Dorothy…. Huh. He blushed a little and cleared his throat, turning to look at Dean. “Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, damn it, Cas, I don’t have a girlfriend,” He mumbled softly, taking a tiny step closer to Castiel. “Do you think I’d be here if I did?”

“You’d be surprised,” Castiel let out a small bitter laugh, swallowing thickly. He tried not to notice that Dean was closer to him, but already he felt warmer, his heart picking up a little. “Some of my customers are married.”

“I don’t mean the- the watching strippers part, I mean _here,_ talking to you- I wouldn’t be…. _Here,_ ” Dean tried to explain, frustration clear on his face as he struggled to gather his words. “I didn’t – I never meant to make you feel like- I didn’t-”

Castiel didn’t know what Dean was trying to say, and he was getting a little angry. If it was just an apology that Dean came here for, then he could leave now. But instead, he was still standing close to Castiel, making his heart race. He tightened Dean’s jacket around himself, digging his fingers into the leather. “Why are you here?” He repeated, a little frustrated.

“Because I’m crazy about you, Cas,” Dean replied, exasperated. Castiel blinked and stared at Dean, swallowing thickly, trying to process what Dean had said. His lips parted a little, a small exhale of breath escaping as Dean continued, not giving Cas a chance to reply. “I’m crazy about you. And- and it’s not just because you’re hot and – I mean, _fuck,_ you are but – I don’t know, I- there’s something about you, it’s- I – the way you talk and laugh and – I was already crazy about you and then I saw you in class and… Damn, you’re even cuter in class. The way you, you know, offer up suggestions in class and you poke your tongue out when you’re doing a hard equation or- or you put your goggles on over your glasses and you look like a dork and I just – I’m crazy about you, Cas. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Castiel was silent, his heart hammering so hard that he was sure Dean could hear it. “You – I…” Castiel couldn’t form words, he was just staring, his cheeks coloured a little, his breathing a little heavier. He didn’t think it was possible that someone like Dean would feel the same as he did, and he certainly didn’t think that anyone would fall for him knowing what he did in his spare time. “What- What do you-”

“I wanna… I wanna take you on a date, Cas….” Dean whispered, studying Castiel intently, searching for answers in Castiel’s blue eyes. “I wanna date you and hold your hand and show you that you’re not just some stripper, okay? And – and that – that you deserve – because you’re –”

Castiel couldn’t listen anymore, he placed his hand on Dean’s chest and shoved him backwards, hard, so that Dean fell down into the leather sofa, sitting on it. Dean looked confused at first, a little afraid and cautious, but the smile that tugged at Castiel’s lips seemed to calm him a little. “Shut up,” Castiel breathed, reaching for the stereo and switching it on. “Tomorrow morning. Take me for, I don’t know, brunch. Or coffee, or anything.”

Dean blinked, staring up at Castiel, processing that he had just agreed to Dean’s offer of a date. Castiel smirked and started to move a little in time with the music, slowly shrugging Dean’s jacket from his shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. He watched the movement of Dean’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his eyes scanning over Castiel’s body, his gaze more lustful than Castiel had ever seen him. Maybe it was because he knew he could have him now.

Castiel slowly unbuttoned his shirt, dancing in time to the music as he did so, sliding his hands his body to hitch up his shirt, letting Dean see his panties again, dragging a gasp from Dean’s lips. He let the shirt hang open when he’d unbuttoned it, revealing his slim body and prominent hipbones. He slowly climbed onto Dean’s lap, almost straddling him without touching. He shrugged the shirt off, staring down at Dean, their breaths intermingling as Castiel began to dance for Dean, just like he used to all those times, rocking his hips, sliding his own hands all over his own body, wishing it was Dean’s hands on him. He brought his hand up to pinch at his own nipple, making himself gasp, watching through hooded eyes as Dean gripped at the leather, letting it creak beneath him as he pressed his fingers into the fabric.

Castiel placed his hand on the back of the sofa to steady himself, grinding against him without touching again, their bodies ghosting together. With the heat and arousal rolling off Dean’s body as he stared up at Castiel, Cas was already getting hard inside his panties. He licked his lips, panting hard, letting his breath flitter across Dean’s skin.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean grunted, desperate to reach out and touch Castiel. Smirking, Castiel leaned closer, their lips millimetres apart, ghosting together, so close that Castiel could feel Dean’s breath, could feel the electricity of Dean’s lips.

“What is it…?” Castiel asked teasingly, the words dancing on Dean’s lips. “Is there something you want….?”

He kept dancing slowly, their crotches almost sliding together, but not quite.

“You–” Dean managed, his voice thick and broken with arousal, his self-control cracking at the seams. “I want you.” 

Castiel licked his lips, making sure his lips were wet and his breath was thick with arousal when he leaned in and teased his lips against Dean’s ear, letting the wetness brush against Dean’s earlobe. “So take me,” he whispered against his ear, moaning softly.

And Dean did.

He gripped Castiel’s hips hard, the electricity burning through them because _finally_ they were touching. He dragged Castiel down so he fell into Dean’s lap, pressed against him, and claimed Castiel’s lips with his own. He groaned, high pitched and breathless, into Dean’s mouth as he claimed him, fingers running through Castiel’s thick dark hair and tugging as he kissed Castiel roughly and deeply, months of pent up frustration finally coming together, a combination of vicious waves crashing against the rocks, and the calm tranquillity of the ocean after a storm. It was perfect and not enough and Castiel could do nothing but kiss him back like a drowning man searching for air.

He could feel Dean’s erection pressed into his pelvic bone, even through the denim of his jeans and he rocked against him, rutting into him, pulling a moan from both of them. Dean’s free hand fell to Castiel’s ass, tugging his hips closer so their erections grinded together, making Castiel gasp. The rough denim dragged across Castiel’s sensitive cock head through the thin panties, a mix of pain and pleasure that caused a wet spot of precome to start leaking through the lace fabric of his panties. When they pulled away for breath, Dean dipped his head to kiss Castiel’s neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh, marking him, grazing his teeth over the bruise that was forming. _Fuck._ Dean was claiming him.

He threw his head back, exposing his throat, panting heavily. “ _Dean_ ,” he whimpered, broken and desperate, “fuck-”

Sweat was already forming on his skin, leaving him with a slick tint, shining a little in the dim lights of the room. Dean chuckled against Castiel’s skin, mumbling something about how Castiel clearly liked it rough but Castiel could barely process the words. All he could think about was Dean’s big strong hands digging into his skin, his lips marking his neck, the rough denim that rutted up against his cock, smearing precome all inside his panties.

“What’s the matter?” Dean purred, moving his hand away from Castiel’s hair. “You need me to touch you, baby?” He asked as he slipped his hand inside Castiel’s panties to grip his cock, fingers curling easily around his hard cock, swollen and flushed.

“ _Jesus, Cas_ ,” Dean groaned, his thumb sliding over the head of his cock to collect the precome there, dragging a whine from Castiel’s throat, “you’re making a mess of these panties, fuck, you’re really –”

“Please,” Castiel whispered, pressing his lips to Dean’s rutting into his hand. “Dean, sir, please, I need –”

“ _Shit,”_ Dean breathed, clearly a little out of his depth because, fuck, Castiel was like an unstoppable force, overwhelming Dean’s senses. His panties were so soaked that he could _smell_ the heady scent of precome that settled between them.

He picked Castiel up, laying him down on the sofa, his sweaty skin sticking to the leather of the sofa a little as he parted his legs, beckoning for Dean to touch him, _anything_ to relieve the need to come, to fuck that stirred in his gut. He panted heavily, vision cloudy with lust as he stared up at Dean, watching the other man tug his shirt off, throwing it aside, before his hands fumbled with his belt and jeans, tugging them open, groaning as the pressure was released from his cock.

“I want – I want you in my mouth,” Castiel panted, sliding off the sofa to kneel on the floor, not caring that his hard cock was aching, drooling precome inside of his panties. “Please fuck my mouth.” He shuffled closer, eyes focused on Dean.

The other man looked lost, dizzy with lust, like he could’ve come right then. He shakily parted his legs, tugging his jeans down a little, and his boxers, freeing his cock from his confines. Castiel stared, his mouth filling a little with saliva at the sight of Dean’s hard cock, thick and red and beautiful, only a few inches away from him. Right now, there was nothing Castiel wanted or needed more in the world than to swallow Dean down. So he did.

He shuffled closer, without warning, curling his hand around the base of Dean’s cock and swallowing him down in one swift movement, causing Dean to buck up from the sofa, groaning loudly, shouting out. “ _Fuck_ , Cas!”

Castiel only hummed in response, eyes flickering up to fix his gaze on Dean as he moved his head back and forth, swirling his tongue around Dean’s thick length. He could taste the salty tang of precome settling on his tongue and it made him whimper, breathing heavily from his nose. He pulled back almost all the way, teasing his tongue against the slit at the head of Dean’s cock before swallowing him down again, letting him brush the back of his throat. Dean was panting and groaning above him, hands moving down to fist Castiel’s hair hard, tugging on it. The pain-pleasure sent sparks through Castiel’s body, his cock twitching inside his panties, letting out a spurt of precome and he whined around Dean’s cock. Experimentally, Dean tugged his hair again, dragging the same response from Castiel.

Castiel stilled around Dean’s cock, letting his mouth sit around Dean’s length, resting back on his knees a little, patiently staring up at Dean. Castiel’s eyes were glossy, glazed over with lust, and the blue was indiscernible, pushed back to a thin ring by the darkness of his blown pupils. It took a moment for Dean to realise what Castiel was waiting for and he groaned, his cock twitching inside Castiel’s mouth.

“You want me to fuck your mouth?” Dean managed, his voice broken and breathless.

Castiel hummed a little, knowing that Dean would feel the vibrations. The permission seemed to break something inside Dean, proof that his self-control was thin, like a dam holding back a raging flood. He gripped Castiel’s hair hard, lifting his hips up, thrusting into Castiel’s mouth hard and fast, so much so that Castiel’s vision was blotty, his cock slamming against the back of Castiel’s throat. Dean was grunting, and Castiel could do nothing but stare up at Dean, his eyes so glossy with lust that tears were running thin paths down his face. He couldn’t even sufficiently moan with Dean fucking his throat like this; could only let out little whines through his nose, painfully hard and aching inside his ruined panties.

“Cas, fuck,” Dean choked out, hoarse and strained. Castiel could feel Dean’s balls tightening as he thrust against him, and he knew Dean was close. “I’m gonna- shit – can I…?”

Castiel kept his eyes focused on Dean, unmoving and unwavering, but he brought his hand up to touch Dean’s hip, a tiny movement, brushing his thumb against Dean’s skin in an effort to show him that he wanted Dean to come, that it was okay. The tiny bit of affection seemed to be the last piece falling into place, and he gripped Castiel’s hair hard, tugging on it as he thrust in, coming hard, and spilling down Castiel’s throat. Castiel whimpered, swallowing it all, his vision almost whiting out from how aroused he was, how needy he was to come too.

Unable to swallow it all, tiny flecks of come sat at the corners of Castiel’s mouth as Dean pulled out, panting hard, shaking a little with the force of his orgasm. Castiel stared up at him, lips swollen and red from where Dean had thrust against them, and he licked the come from the corners of his mouth, panting too.

“Shit, you were – fuck – so good…. So beautiful….” Dean breathed, stroking his fingers through Castiel’s hair gently, caressing him. Castiel whined a little at the praise, his throat wrecked, unable to speak. “Come here, baby, lie down for me…”

Castiel shakily got up, his legs trembling, his panties soaked with precome, cock straining against the confines. He climbed onto the sofa and lay down, breathless, staring at Dean needily. “Please,” Castiel managed, voice broken and hoarse from having his throat fucked. “I need –”

“I know,” Dean hushed, crawling on top of Castiel. “I’m gonna give you what you need, okay….”

He kissed Castiel gently, so softly that Castiel almost broke apart, his eyes wet with tears of lust and frustration and the feeling of being kissed so softly, so lovingly. Dean’s hands trailed down to slowly thumb down his panties, tugging them off and throwing them aside. He kissed a trail down Castiel’s body, his skin burning hot under Dean’s lips. Castiel keened under the feeling, squirming a little, hyper-aware and oversensitive from the sheer _need._

“ _Please,”_ Castiel repeated, trying to urge Dean to hurry up. Dean just hushed him again, settling between his legs and pulling his legs up a little. Castiel stared up at the ceiling, panting hard, trying to get himself to calm down. All of his mental process broke when he felt the swipe of Dean’s tongue at his hole. “Oh fuck, fu–”

Dean held onto Castiel’s hips, thumbs brushing circular motions into Castiel’s skin in some attempt to ground him as he teased around Castiel’s hole with his tongue, swirling around, pushing inside of him. Castiel felt like his body was alive with stars, with electricity, and he choked out a sob, his abdomen smeared with precome already. Dean was right; he was making a mess of himself. Alongside the swirl of his tongue, Dean slid one of his fingers into Castiel, thrusting it slowly into him, stroking inside of him.

Castiel bucked his hips a little, desperate for more, pushing his ass down against Dean’s tongue as he felt Dean slide a second finger inside of him, opening him up, stretching him out. Castiel whined, throwing his head back, sweat-damp hair sticking to the leather a little.

“Fuck, you’re – do you have lube?” Dean asked breathlessly, pulling back. Castiel nodded a little and pointed shakily to the stand that the little stereo was on, to the small wicker box that sat there, containing travel-sachets of lube and condoms and those cheap vibrating cock rings you could get from dispensers sometimes. This job had its perks. Dean slid his fingers out of Castiel and kissed him softly before walking over to grab the lube. Castiel could do nothing but stare at Dean, eyes glassy, noticing how Dean was half-hard already. Fuck. This man’s refractory period was astronomical. He had struck gold, Castiel decided.

Dean coated his fingers in the lube, sliding them back into Castiel, much easier than he did before, rubbing the pads of his fingers against Castiel’s walls. He whined, arching a little, trying to rock his hips against Dean’s fingers, begging for more. Dean laughed softly, pushing a third finger into him and crooking them a little, finding Castiel’s prostate. Whining and panting, Castiel rutted his hips hard, his cock twitching against his abdomen, leaving a thin trail of precome as he did so. “Fuck! Dean!” He cried out, pushing his hips down.

Spurred on, Dean steadied himself by placing one hand on Castiel’s thigh, thrusting his fingers into Castiel hard, making sure the pads of his fingers brushed Castiel’s prostate with every thrust. Castiel was seeing stars, sweaty palms dragging against the leather in some attempt to scramble for purchase. “Look at you,” Dean grunted, voice gruff, “you’re practically begging for it, huh? Begging for my cock–”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed out, staring at Dean pleadingly, whining. “Please, fuck me, I want – I need you inside of me…”

“Mhm, who am I to resist you, huh, angel?” Dean smirked, slowly pulling his fingers out of Castiel’s red, stretched hole, wet and glistening with lube. Castiel stared as Dean knelt, pouring some lube into his hand and fisting his already hard cock, slicking it up. Castiel whimpered, his gut burning from the sight, and he figured he could probably come from watching Dean fuck into his hand, from watching him get off, letting him come all over Castiel’s abdomen. The thought sent sparks through Castiel, leaving him shaking, covered in goose-bumps.

Dean leaned over, kissing him slowly but hungrily, their tongues sliding together a little as he pressed the head of his cock against Castiel’s slick entrance. The full force of what was about to happen hit Castiel; he was about to be stretched out and filled by Dean Winchester’s thick cock. Trembling a little, he slid his arms around Dean’s shoulders, pressing his fingers into Dean’s shoulder blades to prepare himself.

“Ready?” Dean mumbled against Castiel’s lips, kissing him softly.

“Mm, fuck me…. Please…” Castiel whispered, his voice thick and slow, drunk with lust and need.

“Shit, you’re so hot, Cas...” Dean breathed, slowly pushing inside of Castiel. The stretch, the delicious burn of Castiel’s hole as Dean pushed in inch by inch had Castiel gasping, panting heavily, lips wet and swollen.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, really feeling how big Dean was as he stretched him out. When Dean had fully pushed inside of him, nestled inside of Castiel, he stilled, their breaths mingling together as Dean stared down at Castiel.

“You doing okay?” Dean breathed softly, holding back the urge to slam into Castiel. In response, Castiel just hummed, a little distance, dizzy and drunk with the blissful feeling of _finally_ being filled by Dean, like quenching an insatiable thirst. Dean’s brow furrowed in concern, but Castiel barely noticed, not even when Dean’s thumb brushed his cheekbone. “Hey. Don’t space out on me. You doing okay….?”

Castiel blinked, a little dazed, finally becoming more aware of Dean’s question. He blinked a few times and swallowed hard, before nodding. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m here. Please, just….”

That was all the reassurance that Dean needed and he slowly started thrusting into Castiel, kissing his lips softly, drinking in all of the little breathless moans that escaped Castiel’s lips with each roll of Dean’s hips. He clung onto Dean’s shoulders, fingers pressed into Dean’s shoulder blades, like his only anchor in the raging storm that was staring to build between them. With each reassuring moan from Castiel, Dean picked up pace, until he was thrusting hard into Castiel, hips bumping against Castiel’s ass, probably forceful enough to leave bruises on both of their skin.

Castiel hardly cared; if he was covered in bruises that Dean had left, it meant all of his customers would know exactly who he belonged to. He parted his legs a little more, resting one of them on the back of the sofa, the other one sliding off the leather as Dean fucked into him, grunting above him. The room was filled with the slap of skin-on-skin, the breathless grunts from Dean’s lips and the whines and pants from the man below him. The leather creaked beneath him, and along with the slick wet noise of Dean’s cock sliding easily into Castiel’s hole, the room was thick with obscenity, the heady smell of sex and come and sweat hanging in the air.

Castiel dragged his hands down Dean’s back, digging his blunt fingernails into the skin as their bodies fit together, leaving vicious red trails in their wake. Castiel was close already; he had been since before Dean had even touched him, and the high pitched whined falling from his lips were only a sign of how desperately he was trying to hold back his orgasm, waiting for Dean to come first, or for Dean to give him permission to make a mess of himself.

With a tilt of his hips, Dean was thrusting against Castiel’s prostate, cockhead buried into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Castiel’s skin was ablaze with lightning, his stomach muscles tightening at the feeling. The white-hot electricity sparked up his spine, leaving him dizzy and sweaty. “Oh god, oh fuck, Dean, _Dean,_ ” Castiel begged, his cock spurting out a thick trail of precome as Castiel desperately fought against the orgasm that was building inside of him, bathing Castiel in heat.

“It’s – fuck, it’s okay, baby – I want you to come for me,” Dean grunted gruffly, reaching up to tug on Castiel’s hair. “Come for me. Make a mess of yourself for me.”

Castiel didn’t hear the second half of that sentence. He threw his head back, coming hard between them, clenching around Dean’s cock as he spilled hot white ropes of come onto their abdomens, cock twitching, untouched, against their stomachs. He let out a string of whines and whimpers, and the clenching of his hole against Dean’s cock seemed to push Dean over the edge, because a few thrusts after and Dean was coming too, filling Castiel up, painting his insides with hot come. The feeling had Castiel riding through what almost felt like a second orgasm as he trembled, Dean’s cock twitching and pulsing inside him.

They collapsed together, sated and panting, a slick mess of sweat and lube and come, their bodies trembling. Dean’s softening cock slipped out of Castiel’s used hole and Castiel felt a trail of come drip out of his hole and down his ass, making a mess of the leather beneath them. Through the daze of his orgasm, Castiel could feel Dean’s lips against his sweaty, damp hairline, murmuring soft words.

“You were so good, Cas, so fucking–” Dean murmured as Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean, his eyes stinging a little with tears, overwhelmed by the intensity of everything. He buried his face against Dean’s shoulder, panting heavily. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m right here, Cas…”

He pulled back, taking Castiel’s face into his hands and kissing him softly, sweetly, a stark contrast to the roughness of their fuck only minutes ago. He pressed their foreheads together, laughing breathlessly, and soon, Castiel was laughing too. With another soft kiss, Dean got up from the sofa, reassuring Castiel that he was just finding something to clean them up with. Thankfully, in the little wicker basket, there was also some little disposable cleansing wipes, so Dean ripped one of them open with his teeth, cleaning up the come and lube from Castiel and himself, throwing the wipe on the floor.

“You okay, angel…?” Dean asked softly, climbing back onto the sofa and kissing Castiel softly, lazily making out.

“Mhm,” Castiel hummed against Dean’s lips, smiling a little. “You meant what you said…?”

“About what?” Dean pulled back to look at Castiel, raising his eyebrows. Castiel closed his eyes, sated and blissed out, shrugging a little. The doubt tugged in the back of his mind, and he had to get it out.

“About…. Wanting me…. Wanting to date me…. And stuff…” Castiel mumbled, feeling how Dean pulled back and cupped Castiel’s cheeks, urging Cas to look at him. Lazily, Castiel opened his eyes, looking up at Dean, taking in Dean’s serious, stony expression.

“I meant every word, Cas.” Dean insisted. “I’m crazy about you.”

“You want to…. Date me?” Castiel breathed, searching Dean’s eyes. “But why….?”

“Because. You’re smart and… and funny… and beautiful… and there’s something about you, Cas, like- like I can feel it already, you’re just…. I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “Come on, let’s get dressed. Take the night off, come to mine. We can, I don’t know, take a bath, watch some TV and I’ll take you to bed. And _tomorrow_ we’ll go on that date.”

“Hm.” Castiel considered, looking unimpressed. “One condition.”

“Anything you want.” Dean grinned.

“Chinese food.”

“Done.”

They laughed, kissing again, like it was the easiest thing in the world, like they had been kissing forever. Castiel slowly got up from the sofa, blinking a little. He couldn’t get dressed; his panties were ruined. He blushed a little, picking up his panties and inspecting them. Dean laughed as he tugged up his jeans, fastening them, pulling his t-shirt on. “You’re, uh, not really gonna be able to wear those are you?”

“No,” Castiel replied with a frown.

“Alright, here.” Dean handed his jacket to Castiel, smiling. “Put this on, go and get dressed and I’ll meet you back in the corridor outside.”

Castiel shrugged Dean’s coat on and pulled it tightly around himself, wrapped in the warm scent of Dean. He kissed Dean again, feeling a little high on post-orgasmic bliss and just the standard happiness that came with being _wanted_ , having his pining made mutual. He bit his lip a little, walking out and down the corridor, shivering a little at the contrast in temperature. Inside Room 3, the air was hot and thick with sex, and the corridor was cool and damp in comparison. He hurried down the corridor, sneaking into the changing room and slipping out of Dean’s coat, leaving himself naked. He quickly dressed in the clothes he had arrived to work in; jeans, boxers and a sweater, before slipping on his loafers and grabbing Dean’s jacket and leaving.

He didn’t even bother to tell Crowley.

He walked down the corridor, bumping into Ruby as she walked out of Room 2. She raised her eyebrow, looking him up and down, knowing that his shift didn’t end quite yet. He swallowed and pulled out his wallet, holding up a wad of money, around $65, but he hadn’t bothered counting.

“Ruby. I need you to do me a, uh, a very big favour,” He looked pleading and she bit her lip, eyeing up the cash that he had extended towards her.

“Mhm, go on.”

“Okay… I need you to A. not tell Crowley that I went home early. And, uh…. B….” He flushed a little. “Break into the security room and delete the footage from the past hour or so from Room 3. Please.”

A smirk played on Ruby’s lips and she reached up to take the cash. “Huh. Have you been bad, Castiel?”

Castiel glanced over Ruby’s shoulder, seeing Dean waiting for him, a confused look on his face. “Sort of. Will you do it or not?”

Ruby glanced behind her, following Castiel’s gaze, and she grinned, turning back to him. “I see.” She tugged the cash out of his hand and tucked it into her bra. “I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. I know, I’m awesome. Now go. Enjoy your night.”

“Thank you, Ruby.” He breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was Crowley seeing that. He’d either fire him for having sex on the premise without signing a contract, or he’d watch it and get off on it. He didn’t know which one was worse. The latter, Castiel decided. Definitely.

He ran up to Dean and kissed him. “I’m ready. We can go.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned, lacing their fingers together and tugging Castiel towards the back door of the club.

That night, they did just as they’d promised. They took a bath together, Dean’s fingers massaging Castiel’s scalp as he worked the shampoo through his hair, caressing him. Then, they ordered Chinese food and lazily made out while watching TV, before Dean took Castiel to bed and crawled under the covers, taking Castiel apart slowly with his mouth until Castiel was whimpering and coming down his throat.

The following Tuesday, Castiel sat between Kevin and Dean in class, his fingers intertwined with Dean’s under the desk.

The Friday after that, Castiel went for drinks with Charlie and Dean, getting to know Dean’s best friend.

4 months later, Castiel switched dorms with Charlie and moved in with Dean, and Dean would still come to see Castiel every Saturday at the club, getting a lap dance for free each time.

Almost exactly a year after Dean and Castiel got together in the dull back room of the club, Castiel walked in and quit his job, revelling in the devastation on Crowley’s face at the prospect of losing his best employee. As he walked away, grinning to himself, deciding he might apply for a job at the art gallery soon if there was one going, he realised that despite all its ups and downs, Castiel had _liked_ his job. Of course, he’d probably like the art gallery a lot better, but that job had brought him Dean, and a hell of a lot of interesting flexibilities that he didn’t think were physically possible beforehand.

 

 

 


End file.
